


Fearscape of the Pines

by Lxilani



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6472789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lxilani/pseuds/Lxilani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley and Stanford Pines are preparing for their trip at sea aboard the Stan O' War II. In order to prepare themselves for the horrors they may face at sea, Stanford has created a machine called the "fearscape generator", where a person must encounter their worst fears in the "fearscape". Will eventually include Dipper and Mabel. A Divergent-esque take on the mindscape (yet this is not a Divergent crossover whatsoever).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a prologue to a Divergent-esque take on the mindscape. dubbed the "fearscape" (in no way is this a Divergent crossover). Contains Ford having a nightmare and Stan swooping in to comfort him. I love stangst-y fics, so I hope you enjoy.

"So we meet again, _**SIX FINGERS!**_ "

Stanford Pines stood in a desolate wheat field streaked with gray skies, the bellowing voice sending chills down his spine. The field seemed to stretch on for infinity, the wind whisking the plants around gently. Ford quickly recognized this place as his mindscape (or was it dreamscape?). The mindscape was empty save for three monuments, all grayed and faded: a swingset for two, a sailboat worn by time, and a decrepit portal. The hairs on the back of Stanford's neck stood on end; every visit to this place was a fresh nightmare. What a shame he hated his own mind.

Anxiety brewed in the man's stomach as he balled his fists, ready for whatever disaster would occur this time. He knew Bill Cipher was there, watching him. He knew the demon was just dying to unleash a new terror on Stanford, he knew it, knew it, knew it. He supposed Bill was wreaking revenge on the one who'd figured out a way to destroy him.

The triangular demon's sharp laugh rang out across the mindscape suddenly, causing Ford to tense. All at once, the air filled with the smell of smoke and charred grass, and large electric blue lines suddenly traced their way through the wheat fields. Bill was most probably waving his finger around somewhere above Stanford's head, drawing on the canvas that was his mind. He spun around, dizzying himself, in an attempt to wrap his head around what Bill was creating.

Once Bill was finished burning the ground at Ford's feet, he exclaimed sardonically, "Take a good look, Fordsie!"

With those words, Ford felt his feet lifting off the ground. His stomach dropped as he ascended, forced upwards by the demon. After just a second he was halted, frozen several miles above the ground. Mind whirring, he cast his glance downwards.

Stanford's face twisted in horror as he saw Bill's writings: the fez symbol, the pine tree, and the shooting star. All drawn to perfection. All with angry red Xs slashed through them.

Ford became even dizzier then; his heart dropped and his arms trembled with fury and revulsion. He whipped around to confront the conjurer of the images.

"Stop this right now, Cipher! T-they're alive; you're dead! You can't hurt them!" Stanford yelled, voice not as steady as he would've liked it to be. Surely Bill could sense Ford's fear, no matter how far inside his core he tried to stow away the feeling.

Bill laughed a cold, chilling laugh. "That's what you think, buddy! You have no idea what I've got planned for you and your weak family!" He snapped his fingers and in an instant, Ford's feet were back on the ground.

Stan, Dipper, and Mabel suddenly appeared in place of their respective symbols. Their expressions were absolutely blank.

They looked disturbingly real.

One after the other, they all called out Ford's name, starting with Mabel.

"Grunkle Ford."

She stated his name simply.

Then, Dipper.

"Great-uncle Ford!" he called, with noticeable emotion. It seemed as if Ford's great-nephew was reaching out towards him, trying to grasp at him without moving.

Ford twitched, but then he turned to Stan. His brother, his twin, his counterpart.

"Stanford?" Stanley asked, the one-word inquiry loaded with a mixture of desperation, confusion, and sorrow. It reminded him of a lifetime ago, when they were both standing in that portal room, just twenty-eight with no knowledge about what would happen next.

Was that _really_ thirty years ago?

Stanford could feel something drop in his chest- it was the feeling of his heart breaking. What had he done this time? What had made Stan feel so sorrowful?

"Aaw, look at Fordsie getting all emotional," Bill mocked. Ford mentally cursed himself for poorly hiding his emotions.

"I know what'll make this even more _fun_ ," the demon said, and on that last word, his eye turned completely red. A sick, pulsing blood red.

"You wouldn't--" Ford mumbled in horror, his already broken heart sinking to his feet.

"Oh, but I _would!_ " Bill interjected loudly. He shrieked with laughter as he obliterated Ford's family members, one by one. They were each reduced to dust, each echoing Ford's name as they disappeared:

" _Ford!_ "

" _Ford!_ "

Stan's voice sent chills down his spine.

" _Stanford!_ "

 

Ford jerked awake, heart pounding loudly in his ears, his head, his hands. He'd toppled off the couch he slept on in the spare room, the blankets in a tangled heap around him. The maroon sweater and simple black pants he wore seemed sticky with cold sweat. He grasped at his mouth, throat raw as if he'd been screaming. His other hand flew to his heart, like it might burst. His once stiff posture shuddered into a slump as dry sobs began to wrack his throat. Never had a dream been this fear-invoking. Never in his life had he felt so scared of losing his family.

"Jeez, Ford, you could've been a little quieter getting your midnight snack," came Stanley's gruff morning voice from down the hall. Ford froze in his fetal position, not daring to breathe.

"Well, you managed to wake me up- luckily the kids are still asleep. I swear, nothing gets them up before morning."

Ford's shoulders twitched. _Stop that,_ he snapped at himself; no way was he going to let Stanley see him in his state. He tensed his muscles, but it was uncontrollable- one, two, three twitches.

Stan shuffled down the stairs. "Sounds like you dropped a pot or somethin'; really, Ford, didja have to scream when you dropped it? Jeez--"

He froze as he was just about to pass by the room Ford slept in. He flicked on the hallway light, catching sight of his brother on the ground. All he could see was the top of Ford's bent-over head and his twitching shoulders.

Ford desperately tried to steel himself, but to no avail.

He could almost hear his brother's heart sinking, realizing then that he'd never cried in front of his brother.

..When was the last time he'd cried?

"Ford!" Stan whisper-cried, racing into the room and over to the couch. "Oh my god, Ford, are you okay?"

Ford looked up with glassy eyes to face his twin brother, who stood over him with genuine concern. Pure embarrassment burned on his face as he shook his head, burying it in his hands. Every inch of his body trembled with an irrational fear of the nightmare he'd just lived through.

Stanford's face flared. He knew he looked so _helpless_ , so _terrified_. And he knew that he was scaring his brother half to death, he knew that there was nothing he could do about it, he knew that his twin's head was probably racing, struggling to grasp at an explanation for Ford's unnatural behavior.

"...was it a dream?" Stan asked, barely audible.

Ford's train of thought halted. Oh, his brother knew him well. He nodded wordlessly, wiping his face and letting his hands drop. His gaze fixated on the floor.

He could feel Stanley flinch. "Do you... want to tell me what it was about?"

 _No_ , said Stanford to himself, no way was he going to tell him what he had just witnessed. It would only strike more fear into Stanley, and that was the absolute last thing he wanted right then.

But he had to.

Ford inhaled, making a choking gasp of a noise before whispering, "B-..Bill. And.. a-and the kids. You. H-he.." _Stop stuttering, it's doing you no good._

"Goddammit, Stanley, it was Bill!" he cried out suddenly. And the fuse had been lit; he was rambling now with no sign of stopping. "He came back, he tortured you, he tortured the kids, and oh god, I witnessed it all, h-he burned you and Dipper and Mabel to the ground, and you all cried out my _name_ and he literally _burned_ you, he--" Stanford was promptly cut off by a tight embrace from Stanley. His voice trailed off, his eyes widened. A wave of coolness washed over Ford, relieving the feverish feeling that stung his skin.

Ford tensed for just a second before returning the hug, leaning his head into Stan's shoulder.

"Ford, I want you to repeat after me," Stan mumbled, voice low yet stern. "Bill - is - gone."

"Bill," Ford said, voice shaking, "i-is gone."

"Alright. Why is he gone?"

It felt like routine, the way his brother drilled him. "I... I killed him," Ford said, voice more solid this time. But then his voice broke. "I... but I erased your memory, oh my god, Stanley, I erased your memory to kill him." A fresh wave of sobs came back, violently shaking Ford's shoulders.

"Hey, my memory's back now, thanks to those kids. It's not your fault, Stanford," Stan said, patting his brother's back. "Can you repeat after me? Not your fault."

"It's not my fault," Ford murmured. "Not my fault, not my fault, not my fault."

"Repeat after me again: Bill is gone," Stan said again.

"Bill is gone," Ford said. And then he said it again and again and again. "Bill is gone, Bill is gone, Bill is gone."

He repeated that mantra over and over until he drifted off into a half-sleep, letting himself surrender to a fuzzy blackness. How peaceful the blackness was. How _empty_ it was, devoid of any disturbances.

"I've got you," Stan whispered, almost absentmindedly, sensing his brother was about to doze off. "I'm right here, Stanford. Don't worry. Just rest your head, I've got you, it's okay."

In that moment, Stanford felt more secure than he had ever felt before. He let himself succumb to the darkness at last. Fragmented thoughts swam across his mind: _too bad I'm not more awake to savor my brother's company._

Ford's muscles relaxed at last, his tight grip on his brother releasing. An easy smile fell on Stan's face then. Ford was sleeping now, and from the looks of it, he was having a pleasantly dreamless slumber.

Stanley carefully removed himself from the embrace, slightly cold from lacking the warmth his brother radiated. He yawned silently, stretching out his arms, feeling his joints crack in various places. Stan could feel his eyelids drooping suddenly, black velvet creeping into the corners of his vision.

He reached down to his brother, plucked Ford's glasses from his face, and draped the blankets back over him. He half sat, half fell on the couch, angling Ford's glasses back and forth, admiring the way they caught the light from the hall.

Stan placed the glasses on the couch cushion next to Ford's head before reaching over and gently tousling his brother's hair. Before falling asleep beside his brother, he whispered:

"'Night, Ford."


	2. 1. Into The Simulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford unveils his invention, deemed the "fearscape generator" (or more informally, Project Shacktron), to Stan.
> 
> This chapter may be kinda slow, but things will pick up very quickly after this, don't worry.

Stanley Pines woke to the scent of fresh coffee and hazy sunlight on his face.

His thoughts slipped out of a fuzzy dream and slowly into reality, taking him a second to realize he was in the spare room. Ford's room.

The events of last night came rushing back to him like an overflowing river, and his heart stung. Distantly his mind recalled memories, snippet by snippet: Ford's noiseless sobs, his repeated mantras, the embrace they shared that lulled him into a (hopefully) dreamless sleep. Slightly dizzy from rememberance, he put a hand to his head and sat up.

He looked around the room, heart rate beginning to climb as he realized Ford was absent from it. All the sheets had been properly folded, and he then noticed the source of the coffee smell: a still-warm mug of coffee sitting on the ottoman, prepared for him. Propped against the mug was a scrap of paper, which, Stan read upon picking it up, said "meet me in the basement when you're awake".

Ford was okay. His hurting heart slowly but surely lifted.

He gratefully took a sip as he got to his feet, multiple joints complaining. The coffee had been brewed to perfection- black, loaded with cream but with just a dash of sugar, just the way he liked it.

Before heading downstairs, he dressed himself in his room, pulling on his suit without much urgency. He'd booked a group of tourists to come through in the late afternoon, which would most probably the last tour he'd ever give for quite a while.

Stan was whistling as he exited his room.

The living room was empty as he passed it. Presuming the kids were still asleep, it must've been pretty early in the morning.

He punched in the passcode to the basement and ambled down the stairs, finishing off the coffee on the way down the elevator. He could hear muted sounds of machines whirring and beeping. Then, the sound of Ford scribbling as always.

Entering the basement, he noticed the control room was empty. The desk with the photo of Dipper and Mabel was surprisingly pristine. He set down the empty coffee mug on the table and stepped through the door leading to the expansive portal area. The area no longer housed the portal, in fact; it had been discarded after being used as part of the Shacktron. While Stan had been slightly sad to see it be incinerated, he was glad it was gone.

Finally he spotted his brother, pacing back and forth in front of.. a new machine? It was a tall, rectangular mechanism, about as large as the portal. Its face was made entirely of screens, which collectively displayed six blue, glowing, foreign symbols. Below those screens was a control panel with an array of buttons and levers and switches. His mouth dropped open in awe.

Stanford was the only moving part in this scene, pacing back and forth in front of the machine as he wrote furiously in his journal.

"...Ford?" Stan ventured, slowly so as not to startle his brother.

Ford looked up. "Stanley!" He beamed, closing the journal. "Good morning! How're you today?"

Stan tilted his head to the side, confused. Ford was awfully.. cheery?.. today. He blinked. "Well, um.. I'm doing good! Good. How're _you,_ Sixer?"

"Oh, great! I'm doing great!" Stanford nodded multiple times.

Stan sighed a little. "Ford, you seem kinda.. off today. Especially after.. you know. Last night."

Ford's face fell a little, his expression becoming more like his usual self. "Last night," he repeated. "About that, Stanley... I'm sorry for bothering you. I'm always keeping you up these days, with my nightmares and the aftermath of the apocalypse and whatnot.."

Stan waved a dismissive hand at him. "Ah, I don't mind. All's I'm doing is trying to keep my brother from going insane." He cracked a smirk.

Ford chuckled. "Well then. Thank you for that. After you managed to make me fall back asleep, I didn't have _any_ dreams. None whatsoever. Can you believe that? I finally got to _sleep_. Great, isn't it?"

Stan smiled, but sadness tugged at his heart. Ford got _lucky_ to go a night without nightmares. Yet another thing that normal people didn't have to worry about.

"Sure is," Stan answered, his tone mostly even.

"But really, thank you, Stanley. I appreciate it, really, I do." Ford smiled lightly.

Despite an alarm going off in Stan's head, blaring _"THANK YOU"! HE SAID "THANK YOU"! TWICE!_ , Stan waved a hand at him dismissively. "Ah, 's nothing." He took note of the gentle grin on his brother's face. "Anywaaays," he said. "What's got you in such a good mood? Besides the no-nightmares thing."

Ford smiled again. "Oh, yes!" He set down his journal and removed his trenchcoat, placing it on a coat rack. He then picked up a little black box with three glowing blue symbols branded on it. "Stanley... I've actually been meaning to talk to you about this. Do you.. remember my proposal to go sailing to the Arctic Ocean in search of the remaining anomalies?"

Stan couldn't fight the grin off his face. He was always excited to talk about the subject. "Yeah, of course. Why'd you ask?"

"Well... I've just recently invented a contraption that will prepare us for the.. beings we may encounter while we're away."

Stan tilted his head again. "Beings?" he stressed.

Ford looked him directly in the eye. " _Beings._ Such as gigantic octopi, sirens, otherworldly demons. Anything _nightmarish_ of that sort."

Stan shuddered. "So you said this thing you've just built is gonna prepare us for all that?"

Ford nodded. "Yes, yes." He turned his back to Stanley, towards the huge contraption. That giddy smile was beginning to creep back onto his face. 

Ford then spread his arms wide, suddenly ecstatic again, proclaiming, "I call it... the fearscape generator!" He turned back around; Stan was still staring slack-jawed in awe. "Or, if you want to be less scientific about it, Project Shacktron. When I told the kids I'd be busy in the basement building something new, they suggested the name. I suppose it's quite appropriate."

"You _made_ this?" Stan awed. "But.. that's impossible! How did you do this in just two days?"

"Oh, simple. I used leftover material from the portal and various inventions I've made over the years. Not all of it went to waste, of course."

He then approached the machine, flicking certain switches and buttons as he went on. "You see, this machine generates a simulation called the fearscape- a play on the term "Mindscape", one I coined myself, actually- wherein the user encounters their fears. Petty fears, irrational fears, deep phobias, anything. I can manipulate it to generate a certain number of fears, those of which are picked at random, or I can cycle through every single one of a person's fears, which on average takes an hour or few to complete, according to my calculations." The whirring from inside the machine increased in volume slightly. Seemingly pleased, he turned back to Stanley, whose face had dropped suddenly. Ford frowned, confused.

Stan pointed to a large metal chair facing the wall of screens, something he hadn't noticed from the control room. "What is _that?_ " Stan questioned, quietly, pointing to the chair. Next to the chair was a metal table, bolted into the ground. On the table there seemed to be a crank that held a wound-up black cord. Next to that was a metal helmet on a stand with the faded letters "PROJECT MENTEM" branded across the back of it.

Ford followed his twin's gaze. "That is what the user of the fearscape generator wears to enter the fearscape. Almost like a virtual reality helmet, if you will. Those are also reused parts."

After Stan looked over the whole mechanism a few more times, he turned back to his brother. "..don't you hate the nightmares?"

"What? Well, um, yes," Ford replied, a bit thrown by Stan's somewhat random question.

"So you basically made a machine that creates a _world_ of nightmares?" Stan asked again, more quietly this time.

Ford pursed his lips. He'd never really thought about it that way before. "I... I suppose so." He cleared his throat, tried to step over the awkwardness. "But after all, it's better to face our fears than to simply ignore them, right? And after we go through this machine, we'll be ready as ever to take on the sea."

A glow returned to Stan's eyes at the mention of their trip. That was all the reassurance he needed.

"So all's we need to do is just hook ourselves up to this thing and.. you know, do whatever you're supposed to do in it, and then we'll be ready to sail?"

Ford frowned a little. "It's... not that easy. Yes, it's the only thing we'll have to do before going on our expedition, other than packing and whatnot, but this machine is.. dangerous. You see, Stanley, this simulation is generated based on your fears. And I don't mean just simple fears, like arachnophobia or mysophobia. I mean.. darker fears. Losing someone you care about. Things a person keeps deep inside themselves."

Stanley was quiet, dizzy, staring into the floor. He'd begun creating a mental list of fears, and it was only getting longer as he descended further inside his mind. What was he afraid of? That's an easy question, he thought. His brother fading away into that wretched portal. Dipper getting attacked by some creature in the woods. Mabel being locked away in a nightmare bubble. Losing his family.

Stan was quiet for a while before saying carefully, "..how bad is it?"

He wasn't even fully sure of what he meant. He wasn't sure Ford was either.

Stan looked up to see Ford tapping his fingers together. _Seems more tense._ "Well, according to my calculations, the simulation lasts approximately five to ten minutes, assuming the random three fears are chosen. Maybe half an hour in rare cases. The user's fears are displayed in order of severity starting with the fears of lesser magnitude. Kind of like a sequence of levels, where in order to move on to the next one you must conquer the one at hand." He stopped for a moment, thinking. "Say you're afraid of spiders. If millions of spiders were to come rushing at you suddenly, the best way to beat it would most probably be to stand there and let the spiders crawl all over you."

Stan cringed at the thought, yet he was not afraid of spiders. At least he thought he wasn't.

Ford looked his brother in the eye. "I've been thinking about testing it out on myself, but it's near impossible to man alone."

Stan tilted his head. "You were really thinking about subjecting yourself to that?"

Ford was silent for a moment. "..we're both going to have to go through it eventually, right?"

"Well, not on your own, of course."

Stanford didn't have a good answer for that. He'd gone through a whole lot of things on his own.

Stan took advantage of the silence, and, despite his anxiety, half exclaimed, "Well, if you're ready to test it out now, let's get it fired up!"

His brother blinked. "I.. you want to try it out on yourself?"

"Well, yeah, of course!" Stan's throbbing anxiety was turning into determination. "Figure we should get it over with, right?"

"I just.." Ford half-sighed as they both headed closer towards the metal chair and side table holding the metal helmet. "Are you sure you're ready for this, Stanley? This may.. take a little time."

Stan ignored his heart rate, which had begun climbing again.

"Trust me, I'm ready as I'll ever be." He reclined in the metal chair.

Ford tried to steel his shaking hands- _when did his hands start shaking?_ \- as he removed the cold, metallic helmet from its stand and placed it on his brother's head, its metal claws locking Stan's skull in place.

"Just.. just breathe and be brave," was the last thing Stan heard before being swallowed by darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much the chapter where all the logistics of the fearscape generator get sorted out, so I'm sorry if it seems like a step down from the events of the prologue. Things really pick up in the next chapter, don't worry. *evil grin*


	3. 2. Fever Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan encounters three of his fears in the fearscape, each selected at random.

For just a fraction of a second all Stanley Pines could feel was the tranquility of velvety soft blackness. It wrapped itself around him from all sides. The vastness stretched on for infinity, which was strangely reassuring to him. It reminded him of the tranquility of his dreamless nights.

The blackness faded with a singular blink; as soon as Stan opened his eyes, he found himself in a car. The car was already cruising at around forty miles per hour. Stan's heart jumped as his hands flew to the wheel and his foot hovered over the pedal. Once he realized he was on a familiar road- the pavement right outside the path leading to the Mystery Shack- his muscles relaxed. His train of thought slowed, his head blissfully empty. This didn't seem too bad. 

A loud, blaring sound and a pair of sharp lights snapped Stan out of his peaceful half-daze, shattering his eardrums and nearly blinding him. A truck was thundering towards him, taking up the entire lane, sure to crush him if he didn't act immediately. His heart rate leapt back to sky-high and his eyes bulged, _oh god this stupid truck's gonna be the end of me,_ as impulse took over and suddenly his hands were wrenching the steering wheel to the side, sending the car violently spiraling into a cluster of trees on the side of the road. A sickening crunch slammed against the tail end of the car, which only made Stan's head spin even more. He didn't realize he was gasping for breath until he realized the truck was gone and the car was still.

Jeez, he'd almost had a heart attack. What was a truck that big doing on such a tiny street? Stan shuddered, resting his forehead against the wheel. He closed his eyes and drew in a breath, trying to calm his rapid heart.

His every breath shook. _It's okay. You're okay. This isn't real._

_This isn't real._

He blinked his eyes open, a wave of determination washing over him. The forest was gone. And that's when his senses finally caught up with him- _you idiot, you're in a fear simulation, didn't you remember-_ and he clenched his fists, bracing himself for the new fear he'd have to face. One down, two to go.

He was inside the Mystery Shack, sitting in his big easy chair in the living room. No outside light shone in from any windows, so he reasoned that it must've been nighttime. Very late at night, actually. Stan let out a long exhale, filled with relief. He was home. He was safe.

But his short-lived relief transformed into deep-seated terror. This was the second fear, meaning it was worse than the first one. And being in the dark Mystery Shack late at night couldn't be good.

Stan's ears suddenly picked up a sound, not far away. It sounded like a person, someone breathing unevenly. Was it the sound of... someone crying?

He twitched, uncertain what to do. Maybe the person crying was dangerous.

Maybe the person was someone he knew.

He knew he shouldn't, but he got up and headed into the hallway anyways.

Where was the sound coming from? He peered in the kitchen and up the stairs; no noise there. The house was eerily quiet, actually- shouldn't he have heard the sound of Ford snoring? And farther away, Dipper and Mabel as well?

His heart jumped slightly. Maybe the person crying was Dipper or Mabel. Or Ford.

Stan arched an eyebrow and walked to the front door, leaning against it. Yes, the sound came from out there. Outdoors, which was a thousand times more dangerous than being indoors at night.

Against the warning sirens sounding in his head, he opened it and peered around the front porch.

Sitting on the edge of the porch, feet dangling over the wood planks, body trembling, was Mabel. Mabel, shaking in her little periwinkle nightgown.

Stan froze. His gut twisted. Mabel was crying. Mabel, the cheery, outgoing, bubble of sunshine, who could turn anyone's bad day around, was crying. What happened to make someone so optimistic feel so sad?

He shut the door very quietly, then tiptoed as best he could over to Mabel. Unfortunately, the wood planks weren't so forgiving. They creaked and groaned under his feet, and Stan winced, silently cursing.

Mabel whipped around, her reddened, wide eyes staring up at him. She looked at him for the longest fraction of a second before saying, "oh," and turning back around.

"Mabel? M-Mabel sweetie, are you alright?" Stan walked closer and sat down next to her. He turned sideways to look at her. To say the least, she looked awful: her hair was matted and slightly frizzy; tear tracks made her face more wet than dry; her hands visibly shook so hard that she couldn't control it. Her white-knuckled fists crumpled the fabric of her nightgown.

This fear was different. This was a feeling similar to the spreading soreness of a bruise. Not the crackling, heart-lurching life-or-death fear of the previous one. This one was ongoing, one that made him think.

And Stan was deathly scared of it.

He took a deep breath. Showing his fear in front of Mabel would definitely make everything worse. He waited for a response from her, wondering if she'd heard.

"I d-don't think so," she whispered, voice shaking in time with her hands.

Stan shifted his position so that he was facing her directly. "You.. wanna tell me what's wrong?" He twiddled his thumbs in his lap, trying to channel his nervous energy.

She shook her head no.

Stan leaned towards her. "Come on, pumpkin. You're gonna have to tell me eventually."

Mabel inhaled a shaky breath. "Don't have to if I don't want to."

Stan arched a brow. Even if it was going to make her uncomfortable to talk about it, he had to figure it out somehow. He had to find a way out of this.

At that thought, he felt sick inside. Was he just doing this for himself? Plowing through this fear like a task he was forced to do? This was _Mabel._ He had to help her. He was doing this for her.

_This isn't real._

The mantra meant something different to him now. Mabel's pain wasn't real. She wasn't actually hurting.

But here, she was. And here, he had to help her.

"Was it.. a person? Someone I know?"

A few seconds passed before Mabel sniffed and rubbed her eyes. "I guess. He's not a person, though."

 _He?_ He wasn't a person? That sounded oddly familiar.

_Oh._

There was only one being like that.

"Bill," he mused. Stan twitched when he realized he'd voiced his thoughts aloud.

"Okay, yeah, it was Bill!" Mabel exclaimed suddenly. Stan jumped at her sudden outburst, blinking at her as she went on. "H-he was in my d-dream, and he had you, Dipper, and Grunkle Ford all, I dunno, all tied up or something, and he just kept _hurting_ you guys! I-I couldn't even stop it, he just laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. But it was s-so terrible. I-I've never been that scared in my whole _life!_ " She broke down in a fresh fit of tears, rubbing her fists into her eyes, hunching over. Stan knew it wasn't real, but his heart ached for her. This dream was oddly familiar to Stan. Yes, it was similar to the dream Ford had described to him.

His insides boiled. Bill, terrorizing his niece's dreams after going after his brother. It was hard to believe that he was dead, completely gone. He was still alive in his family's nightmares.

That also scared Stan half to death.

How had he relieved Ford of his pain? Maybe that would help now.

"Pumpkin," Stan cooed, scooting closer to Mabel and wrapping an arm around her. "It's okay. I'm okay. Dipper's okay. Ford's okay. We're all safe, remember? It wasn't real. It was just a dream. Bill's gone. We defeated him. He's gone. He can't hurt you anymore."

"H-he's hurting me in my head at night! And it always feels so real. And I'm so tired of it!" She turned inwards towards Stan only slightly.

_Stupid, Mabel isn't the same person as Ford. They don't think the same way. You'll have to solve this differently._

"Alright, well, maybe your brother can help. I help Ford with his nightmares all the time." His heart strained for maybe the fiftieth time. This was hurting him to talk about. But it would pay off in the end. 

"Y-you do?" Mabel stuttered.

"Of course I do. He has nightmares all the time. I just comfort him when he needs it; it doesn't bother me."

Mabel sniffled. "Dipper's sound asleep whenever I have a nightmare."

"Really? Huh. Well.. maybe he's having nightmares of his own. What do you do whenever you have a nightmare?"

Mabel looked up at Stan. "Usually I just run away from the room and get some ice cream from the fridge. It makes me feel a little better. Sorta." She wiped a tear from her eye. "T-this time it didn't."

Stan wrapped her in a tighter hug. "Hey. Sweetie. Even if Dipper's still sleeping, see if he's having a nightmare too. You guys might be able to talk through it together, you know? He's your brother. He'll be there for you. _We'll_ be there for you. You know that, right? We'll always be there for you."

"Really? You mean that?"

"Of course, Mabel. Of course we will."

Stan felt his great-niece wrap her tiny arms around him. His stomach unknotted. He encased her with both his arms now, feeling her lean into him more. She was safe and she trusted him now. He'd never let her go.

He rested his chin gently on his niece's head and shut his eyes. He'd never let her go.

***

Stan blinked his eyes open, and Mabel was gone. The Shack underneath him and around him was gone. He breathed out again. Two were gone. Only the last one- the last one- remained. His muscles tensed back up. Whatever it was, he was going to face this head-on.

He tried to ignore the electricity pulsing directly under the surface of his skin.

The area he stood in was pitch black. He looked around, only to find darkness stretching on for infinity in every direction. Stan looked down at his hands, which he could see clearly. He furrowed his brow in confusion. How could he be in an endless black room but still be able to see himself?

A cough startled him out of his train of thought. Stan's head snapped back forwards.

Another cough and the shifting of clothing reached his ears. "Stanley?"

 _"Ford?"_ His breathing became shallow all of a sudden. "Ford, what are you doing here?"

"Stanley, listen to me. I--" Ford was cut off sharply by an agonizing gasp of pain. He lit up suddenly, coming into view from an unknown light source.

Ford was shackled to a black wall by silver chains around his wrists. His hair was all over the place. Fear was written into his eyes. His coat was missing- his red sweater was slashed through with what appeared to be knife marks. Stan's heart raced as the electricity under his skin made his hands shake. Ford was being held hostage here. This was too familiar, way too familiar. His head spun.

"Ford! What's happening? What's going on?"

"Stanley, you don't have much time. We'll both be trapped here for eternity if you don't act fast."

The silver chains slid around Stan's ankles suddenly, clamping coldly into his skin. He jumped at the feeling. Stan tried to move his feet, but they were frozen in place by the snakelike metal grip. His ankles became numb almost immediately, as he realized that the chains were materializing, making their way up his legs slowly but surely. They'd encase him entirely soon, and when it did, it would all be over. He would fail at conquering the fear. Would he ever escape?

"Stan, you have to do it now."

"Do _what?_ I don't underst--" he faltered as a hefty weight suddenly weighed Stan's hand down. He looked over at it, icy fear coursing through him as he realized that he was holding a gun.

"Stan," Ford said steadily. "You have to use it. You know what to do."

Stanley's heart plummeted to his feet. His blood was replaced with ice. _No no no no no._ Realization was a stone, no, a boulder, in his gut. 

He'd have to shoot his brother.

"No," Stan pressed, in disbelief. Dread was wrenching his insides together and apart, together and apart, over and over, relentlessly.

"Yes. It's the only way," Ford said, his voice trembling now.

The chains were up to his knees. "Ford, I _won't_."

"You have to. It'll get you out of here."

"I don't CARE about me! You're going to die!"

"You have to care about you! Otherwise we'll both be stuck here destined to a fate worse than death. You _have_ to do it."

Hand spasms shot up his arm as Stan brought the gun closer to his face. It shone evilly at him, the bullet in the chamber almost taunting him. Stan attempted to lift it to face his brother, but he couldn't. He couldn't, couldn't, couldn't. With every breath, the chains crawled closer to his waist and his physical functions slowed down. Sweat dripped down the side of his face. He could barely think straight, with the static pulsing through his skin. He couldn't do it.

"You can do it. Just look away and do it."

He tried to lift the gun higher. He was only doing this because of Ford's repeated demands. That was the only reason. The gun was glued to his hand. Why? Why couldn't he fling it far away and run to his brother to embrace him?

Stupid. It was his fearscape. There was no other way out.

"Ford," he said. He didn't know how to elaborate. How would he elaborate? What was he supposed to say before shooting his brother?

"It's okay, Stanley. Trust me, you'll be alright. We'll be alright. Okay?"

He shook his head from side to side, but said "okay" anyways.

Stan knew how to shoot a gun. He knew how. He knew how. He just had to pull the trigger. That's all.

And watch it sail into his brother's chest. And watch blood bloom from his skin. And be fully responsible for it.

_It'll be okay. Ford said it'll be okay, so it'll be okay. That's why it'll be okay. None of it is real._

"I'm sorry, Ford. I'm so sorry about all of it. I'm so sorry about dragging you down and suffocating you and being such a bother and having to shoot you in the end for it. I owe you big time, and this is how I repay you." He wasn't even speaking English anymore; his voice was far too shaky. "S-some brother I turned out to be, right?"

"Stanley, it's okay. It's okay. Just shoot. It'll be okay. Just shoo--"

He didn't even get to finish before Stan's trembling finger twitched and the bullet shot out, hitting the skin under Ford's neck like the center of a bullseye. Ford released the most awful, painful, strained gasp before falling limp. The chains released from both of them, and without the support, Stan fell to his knees, the tears rolling down his face before he could even process that he'd _just killed his brother._

None of it is okay, he thought. None of it. Absolutely none. Ford was wrong, for once. He was wrong. It wasn't okay. It would never be okay.

Stan hunched over and leaned into his lap, giving in to the darkness behind his eyes. It would never, ever be okay.

***

When he blinked his eyes open, cold metal met the skin of his back. Realization shot through Stan like lightning- _it's over, you did it, you succeeded_ \- and he gasped, jolting forward, eyes flickering around the room just to make sure that he really was back in reality. Once that much was confirmed, he drew in a breath and pressed his hands to his eyes, hunching over.

A series of beeping made Stan lift his head and turn around. Standing at the panel of buttons under the large screens was Ford, who wore the most stricken look on his face. Worry was etched into his eyes. His mouth was clamped shut, as if holding back a sob. His expression pained Stan so much that he had to look away. The weight of the fearscape continued to bore down on Stan like a boulder on his back. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled into himself again, not sure if he was ready to face reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this got a lot longer and a lot rambly-er than I meant for it to be. I apologize if it's a bit much. 
> 
> Chapter 4 will most likely be fluff-heavy, which I am soooo excited to write about. It probably won't be out for awhile, as I'll be working on approximately four other stories. As always, please leave feedback and suggestions in comments, on Tumblr, or on Discord. Thanks for reading! c:


	4. 3. Our Phobias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan has just emerged from the hell that is his fearscape.
> 
> Unfortunately for him, Ford has seen it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that this chapter took so long to write! I kept getting stuck on where this chapter was going to lead in the end. It's a lot shorter than the last chapter- the point of this piece is to really just tie everything up from Chapter 2. It'll pick up after this, I promise. c:

_Stan! Stan, are you conscious? Can you hear me?_

Ford's own words sounded distant, as if they weren't even coming from his own mouth. Except they were; he felt it more in his vocal chords than in his tongue.

When he heard no response from his brother, he closed a fist around the hem of his sweater, trying to control the nervous panic swelling inside of him. It was heartbreaking, seeing Stan slumped forward in the metal chair, with his face in his hands. He had just _broken_ his brother with his own fears. And now, he refused to even say or do anything.

Worst of all, he'd seen everything. It had played in front of him on the screens like a movie.

The first fear had, admittedly, heightened his heart rate a little, but slowed quickly once he realized Stan had managed to save himself. The second fear, though, was more painful. More ongoing. His brain churned as Stan had dealt with the problem. It especially stung when the discussion of Bill and their nightmares arose.

When Mabel had blurted out the details of the dream that was bothering her, Ford's head quickly leapt into the situation itself, thinking about what _he_ would have done to relieve Mabel's pain. But when he saw Mabel snuggling into Stan's embrace, he was awed. Stan had comforted Mabel so quickly, seemingly without much effort.

Maybe he'd overthought it. Ford would have solved it with logical reasoning. Stan solved it with emotional connection.

And anyways, the fearscape had quickly proven that logical reasoning didn't work on Mabel. Not the way it worked on Ford.

The third fear, the worst of them all, was like a stab in the gut with an electrically charged knife. The way Simulation Ford had spoken to Stan, it sounded _exactly_ what real-life-Ford would have done if they were ever in that situation in reality.

Ford watched the simulation version of himself die with a particularly painful hitch in his throat. He watched his blood stain the blackness of the fearscape with dizzy eyes. When he'd turned back to Stan, however, he could feel a phantom fist around his throat. Ford didn't want to see Stan cry, but he watched. He didn't want to hear him sob, but he listened. All his senses were trained on just one thing, Stan, until the fearscape shut down and the screen flickered off.

The sight of Stan slumped over in the metal chair, just like the way he was after he'd dropped the gun in the simulation, was a sight that prickled Ford's eyes. He turned away from the metal chair again. His head pounded, and variations of the same thought flowed through his head:

_You are a coward._

The thought, coming from out of the blue, was a punch to Ford's ego. Yet the more Ford thought about it, the more he realized that it was completely true. He was scared of watching his simulation self getting shot by a simulation gun. He was scared of watching Stan fall to his knees. He was scared of watching Mabel cry, of the conversation about his own nightmares, about the truck thundering towards the simulation Stanleymobile.

How would he ever survive his own fearscape?

He was also scared to face real-life Stan. He was scared of how he'd respond to Ford's words, if he ever chose to respond. He was scared of whatever expression would be written in the lines of his face. Fear, both rational and irrational, pressed in on him from all sides, like a million airbags surrounding him at once.

Stan's voice cut into the heavyweighted silence of the room suddenly.

"Didn't expect it to be _that_ bad," he murmured, his words choked.

Ford looked over at him, a broken look in his eyes.

"I... didn't either."

Stan, wide-eyed, looked over his shoulder, clearly not having meant for Ford to hear it. Ford didn't want to look at him, but he did. The look in his twin's eyes made the clench of the phantom fist around his throat tighter. He swallowed, refusing to acknowledge the lump in his throat.

"What do you mean, you didn't _either?_ " But Stan, he realized exactly what Ford had meant when he caught sight of the dark screens on the wall.

His face paled even further, his words not far above silence. "You.. saw it all. Didn't you?"

Ford shook his head, curling his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. The last time it pained him this much to see Stan's expression was back in the Fearamid.

A breath hitched in his throat at the thought of the Fearamid. In a flash, it all came back- the pure horror on Stanley's face as Bill dove into his mind, the emotion _draining_ away from his face as he sunk to his knees, his eyelids already shut. The blue rays stealing every last piece of Stan from himself, and it was all Ford's doing. _All your fault, all your fault, all your fault._

Ford didn't realize he was on the floor until Stan's shouts reached him through the fog clouding his mind. Suddenly his brother was kneeling directly next to him. "Whoa, Poindexter! It's okay. I'm right here. Don't black out on me, okay?"

The room still spun around Ford's head. This was worse. Much, much worse. He fixed his eyes on a single point on his brother's shoes, trying to relieve his dizzy spell.

At last, he spoke, but his words weren't nearly as solid as he would have liked them to be. "I'm sorry for putting you through the simulation. All this is my fault." With those words, the taunting, hiss-like voice returned. _All your fault, all your fault, all your fault._

Ford looked up to see his twin brother staring at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding? Now I know how to deal with those fears! Besides, it wasn't even that bad. Really."

Sure, he made a good point with the whole fear-conquering thing. Yet Ford could _just_ see through his lie:

_"It wasn't even that bad. Really."_

Ford had known Stan all his life. Nothing in his body language right then gave away that he was lying, but how else was he supposed to explain Stan's behavior just minutes ago, when he jerked awake and then put his head in his hands, as if attempting to shut out the world?

Ford hesitated before responding.

"That doesn't explain you waking up and looking like you'd just seen a ghost."

A ghost. Who was he kidding? Stan had seen himself murder Ford. No way did seeing a ghost equate to something as _scarring_ as that.

Stan looked back to him, his expression made of stone. Ford held his gaze for two long, silent seconds, watching the cogs working in Stan's brain.

Ford sighed. "Stan... you know I saw you. I saw everything. Frankly, you looked like you were as scared as hell."

His voice was darkly low at this point. Ford, still knelt on the ground, tilted his head at Stan, who was avoiding his brother's eyes. Yet again he was shutting himself off, refusing to share the obvious.

Ford bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he said again, voice almost inaudible.

Stan didn't respond.

He didn't try to counter his statement either.

Ford, sitting on his legs, inched closer to Stan just a little. "Stan, believe me when I say that I was.. horrified to watch you go through that simulation." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Particularly your latter fear."

Stan's voice, preceded by a dry laugh, was just above a whisper. "Yeah, no kidding."

Stanford sighed a little as Stan continued to bore a hard stare into the floor.

"Stan, I know you're reluctant to talk about this. But please, just talk to me. I know that look on your face. It's that look you get whenever you fall and the twins try to help you up. Or when you wake up from a bad dream yelling and everyone in the house can hear you."

Stan looked up with wide eyes at the statement, too many emotions swirling around in them for Ford to place with a single word. It was.. oddly very similar to a look of betrayal.

Hurt, probably.

One side of Ford strongly wanted to break eye contact with his brother, but he barely even blinked. "Stop hiding your pain, Stan. If you're, you know, hurting or need help, just _tell_ me. I won't have a problem understanding."

Stan scoffed quietly. "As if that's the problem," he lamented.

Ford furrowed a brow. "What do you mean?"

Stan clenched his fists and turned his whole body to face Ford directly. Apparently Ford had set off a spark in him, but how?

"Are you really that blind, Sixer? You think I'm not telling you what's up because you think there'll be some sort of issue with you _understanding_ what my problem is?"

Ford blinked, suddenly very confused. "I'm... not sure I understand what you're saying."

Stan threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "Alright, let's see if this is understandable enough for you. Ever thought about the reason why I never come running to anyone when I have a nightmare? You think that someone could stand hearing my fucked-up dreams? Especially at three in the morning?"

Ford blinked, his brother's words slowly starting to sink into him. When he didn't say anything, Stan continued. "You don't know what's in my dreams. _Nobody_ knows what's in my dreams. And you think people would _want_ to know?" He shook his head, dropping his eyes so they met the floor again. "It's too much," he murmured. "Just.. too much."

The elder twin visibly reeled as Stan's words hit him at full force, his suspicions confirmed. Suddenly, all the little details made sense: Stan laughing off a lapse of memory loss. Stan waving away two concerned twins after he'd screamed himself out of a nightmare. Stan refusing to talk about the fearscape.

It was simple, really. Stan was trying to hide his pain for the benefit of his family.

Something akin to lead weighed Ford down at this late realization as he wondered: just how much pain had Stan been through in the past few days? And how much of it had been successfully hidden from those around him?

Never mind the past few days, what about the past months or even years? Decades?

The words left Ford's mouth before he could think them through properly. "Have you always been this way?"

No clarification was needed. Stan looked back up to his brother before responding. "Of course I have. Ever since Crampelter punched me in the jaw in the second grade." He bitterly laughed again.

Ford almost winced at the mention of the old schoolyard bully. So it _had_ been literal decades since Stan had started hiding his pain. 

He could almost feel a crack being opened in his chest. That's how much it hurt him to think about it.

"Stan, that's awful," he whispered, unable to bring himself to say much else.

"No, don't worry about it. I'm fine. You know it." Stan tried at a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"See? You're doing it again!" Ford half-exclaimed. "You're lying. You're not fine. I can tell, Stan."

Defeated at last, Stan sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Was it really that obvious?" he asked, words muffled through his hands.

Ford considered the question. "More so now than when we were younger, that's for sure."

Stan sighed in response. "I had a feeling it wouldn't work." He gave a bland chuckle. "But since when do things ever work for me, right?"

Ford laid a hand on his twin's shoulder, letting some silence pass between them before speaking again. "This isn't good for you, Stan. It's not good for you, for me, for the kids, for anyone. Hiding your pain will only come back to bite you in the future. Why hide something from the people who love you when they're most capable of helping you?"

Stan dropped his hands, but his face was contorted, as if he'd just swallowed something sour. He didn't answer.

"We're here for you, Stan. Dipper, Mabel, and I. You don't need to hide it. Trust me, we've all felt pain before. We know how to deal with it. We're family, remember?" Ford chuckled.

"Sounds like something I'd say," Stan mumbled in response. After a few seconds, he looked at his brother's eyes again. They were wide, silently pleading.

The look alone prompted Ford's next words. "Can you promise me something, Stan? Promise me that whenever you're hurting- I don't care whether it's physically, mentally, or emotionally- you'll talk to me about it. Or any one of the kids, if you want. They deserve to know. Can you promise me that, Stan?"

Ford watched Stan ponder, deep in thought. What was he considering? Was he really so conflicted about this?

"..alright," Stan said at last. "But be warned, I might be bothering you a lot." He chuckled.

Ford barely gave his latter words a second thought. His chest swelled with warmth. "Thank you, Stan. It means a lot."

They stayed that way for a long time, with Ford's hand on Stan's right shoulder, sitting on the ground together. The silence was not awkward. It was satisfactory. It was peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my readers, thank you so much for putting up with the absence of my writing. Because summer is coming chapters will be published much more frequently. Again, thanks for reading and please stick around. c:
> 
> In the meantime look out for a couple more new fanfics coming out this July!


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